


Holiday Bubbles

by Stingalingaling



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Champagne, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Hot Tub, Team as Family, steamed up glasses, swimwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stingalingaling/pseuds/Stingalingaling
Summary: Team hot tub ficlet. Written for Advent2020
Relationships: Harold Finch & John Reese, Root | Samantha Groves & Sameen Shaw
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27
Collections: POI Advent 2020





	Holiday Bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> My thinks to Bran for arranging advent and for chiding me though writers block. Also for preventing characters from being too british. 8)

Not for the first time, Lionel Fusco checked his phone and cursed his luck to be following random text messages on Christmas Eve. They had directed him on a four-hour drive and now he was being led by the nose through the corridors of some kind of spa resort, into the grandest suite and out on to its private terrace.

It was a pretty darn swanky terrace though, with heaters and bug zappers protecting a bubbling hot tub and its single occupant who, with eyes closed and hearing only the noise of the machinery, looked blissful. Lionel approached the figure cautiously and then realised who it was.

“Finch?”

Without his glasses, he looked different, younger somehow, but Harold snapped alert on hearing his name.

“Detective? Why are you here?”

“I got some crazy messages. You OK? You’ve not been kidnapped or anything?”

“I’m fine. This is my seasonal retreat. I book out the whole place. Shouldn’t you be with your son?”

“He’s with his mom. But I guess I wasted a drive, since your ass don’t need rescuing.”

Lionel turned to leave, but Harold, realising he was being churlish, called out.

“Please, detective. You’ve had a long drive on my account. Tell the front desk you are a guest of Mr Partridge and they will arrange you a room. Anything you like.”

“Ok.” Lionel grinned. “Thanks.” And he shuffled off happily leaving Finch alone again.

*** 

As the waters of the hot tub folded around and healed his aching body, Harold closed his eyes again, sat back and cherished the indulgence of the heat and water pressure and the relative silence of just the mechanics of hot air blasting through water.

Although the dark clouds obscured the spectacular view of the stars, they had the bonus of cocooning the woods with the residuals of the day’s heat. And that, combined with the natural hot spring water, made the Spa retreat an expensive, and hence exclusive, paradise. This Christmas, despite full bookings, all paid for in advance, there was only one guest. Well, two now, he supposed.

He was happily lost in thought and working on letting his body drift to the surface when he became aware of another intrusion: two women in white bathrobes had arrived and were pushing a dining cart loaded with food and drink.

_“Root, I don’t think he’s in mortal danger.”_

Harold splashed alert in panic at Shaw’s voice and fumbled for his glasses that steamed up immediately.

“What are you doing here?” he spluttered.

“The Machine sent us to find you,” Root replied. She wagged an admonishing finger. “Mom doesn’t like it when you go off grid.”

They both removed their robes to reveal swimwear.

“Yes, but… wouldn’t you prefer a tub of your own?” he managed to say, sinking lower in the water to hide his chest and shoulders.

“Oh please,” Shaw was unmoved at his protest as, clutching a bottle of champagne and glasses, she climbed into the tub next to him. “This was a four-hour drive on the promise of shooting someone, I need to unwind somehow.”

“Isn’t drinking alcohol in a heated pool a bad idea?” Harold queried.

“I can have yours,” Root suggested as she climbed in on his other side.

“No,” he decided, and took a glass. “I guess my blood pressure has already had quite the workout today.” Nevertheless, Harold sipped the cold sparkling champagne very carefully.

His two companions however, drained their glasses competitively and reached across him to pour out more. It wasn’t perhaps the best timing for Harold’s third surprise intrusion of the evening.

“What’s going on?” John Reese asked, in a voice that sounded like a boy who’d got up early on Christmas morning to find his mom being inappropriate with Santa.

“Mr. Reese,” Harold said quickly. “It’s not what it looks like.”

John took a moment to assess the scene as the bubbles continued to plop around them.

“It looks like the three of you are in a hot tub drinking champagne,” he replied evenly.

“He’s got you there, Harry,” Root said in a stage whisper.

Shaw came to the rescue with her usual directness. “Why are you here, Reese? Did the Machine send you too?”

“No, I was concerned when Finch’s tracker went offline.”

Root was enjoying herself and playfully nudged Harold. “Guess you should’ve left junior a note too.”

But Harold was mildly indignant at his fast eroding privacy. “You put _another_ tracker on me? How?”

“And _where_?” Shaw asked in mild amusement. Root barked in laughter at that.

Further blushes were spared as Lionel returned in his own white bathroom and slippers.

“Oh hey, Wonder Boy is here too.” He brushed past John, grabbed a club soda, then removing his robe to reveal black trunks, climbed into the tub. “If you’re going to throw a holiday party, Glasses, why be so cloak and dagger about it?” He settled contentedly and smiled. “He’s booked the place out, Reese, so there’s plenty of rooms.”

“Yes of course, do join us--,” Harold began. But he stopped as John, leaving only his phone and his gun to one side, dramatically stepped into the hot tub fully dressed in his traditional black suit and shoes. Waves of bubbles around them lurched until he seated himself and buttoned his jacket to stop it floating up.

“Or you could just do that,” Harold finished.

“Is that your only suit, Reese?”

“I have six others just like it.” He grinned at Harold. “Just not with me.”

Lionel weighed the situation and said, “You’re going to be a big hit at the breakfast buffet.”

Harold sighed. “I can arrange for some more clothes to be delivered.”

“I knew it,” Shaw said in some excitement. “Reese, you totally let him dress you, don’t you?”

Root gamely offered John a glass of champagne.

“What are we drinking to?” he asked with a smile.

“Drip dry fabric?” Harold suggested.

Root raised her glass and playfully proposed, “To lovers.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes and suggested, “To partners.”

“To friends?” offered John.

“Nah,” Lionel raised his club soda. “To family.”

They drank and talked, and their happy voices lifted past the trees and into the clouds of the night sky. Maybe none of them were having the Christmas eve they expected, but at least they were spending time, as Lionel said, with their family.

_*** Wishing everyone safe and happy holidays ***_


End file.
